Fandom:
'Disturbing Behavior' (the movie; not the book)
Summary: Steve thinks about the most precious thing he
has left.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Steve/Rachel
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Don't sue,
I'll cry. ;p
- - -
"As I gaze upon your
beauty, I think to myself, never have I seen an angel fly so low." -- Unknown
She sits upon the wide windowsill in their apartment, red ribbons in her
ponytailed hair. He imagines them being blue, and shivers.
Hugging her knees to her chest, she tilts her head and rests it on the chilled
window, watching the rain fall outside. The grey sky makes it seem much later
than four p.m. But he knows she doesn't mind. Rachel loves the rain. In Rachel
speak, it's "razor".
Razor. He smiles, shoving his hands into his jean pockets.
She loves gazing at the world outside that window. The world of Chicago, the
only place Steve could think to run off to. Though the situation is new, he
feels as much at home in this city as he ever did before.
Rachel likes it here, where she can be anonymous. Where she can get lost in a
crowd, and never be recognized. Where she can finally break away from a past in
which she was referred to always as what is put in garbage cans.
"It's falling hard out there," Rachel says, sensing him in the room. She can do
that sometimes.
"Mhmm."
He's not sure what rain means to her, why she feels drawn to it. But rain means
memories for him.
Memories of playing tag in light drizzles with Alan, when they were young, and
then still when they got older. Telling Lindsay to go back inside when she
wanted to join them, fearing for her health. "You'll catch Pneumonia," their
mother would say, and he would recite this to her as she stood under the
protection of the front porch. Being strong willed, she'd roll her eyes and
cross her arms in front of her chest. But she'd listen to him. Lindsay always
trusted Steve. And she trusted Alan, until...
"Steve, *you* could get sick, too," Lindsay would say. But he doubted it. He'd
always believed girls were much more fragile. Until he met Rachel.
Rachel, who, as it turned out, was stronger than him sometimes. Like on Alan's
birthday. He found his way back to the house where he used to live, with his
parents, and most importantly, with Alan. The house where it all fell apart.
Rachel stayed by his side, understanding that he needed the silence after he
asked her to please not talk. They walked in the center of the the quiet streets
at noon, not caring to notice the yellow and brown leaves of autumn that fell
from decades old trees above their heads, lining the streets. They stood to the
side when the occasional car passed by, but otherwise walked on and on, like
robots without feeling. Numb.
"This is it," Steve finally said, his voice sounding strange from lack of use.
Rachel looked at the quaint little home, and told him she'd never lived in such
a nice home. That she was always nothing but trailer trash.
He closed his eyes, not having the emotional capacity at the moment to reassure
her that he'd never think of her that way. Instead he exhaled, and then faced
his childhood home again. He looked up at the second story, at the window that
belonged to what used to be his bedroom. The one that he shared with Alan for so
many years. When Alan was twelve, he moved into his own room. Now, looking back,
Steve wished that he hadn't. Maybe if he'd slept in the bed next to Alan for all
of their childhood lives, he could have known that his older brother was
struggling, that he was dying inside.
He thought about the day Alan died. How he had walked in the pouring rain for
hours, trying to make sense of the unbearable pain and anger that wanted to
explode inside his veins. The day the rain gave him no solace, nothing at all.
The very rain that Rachel loved.
It wasn't until Rachel laced her hand with his that he realized he was shaking.
Her hand was warm around his, and as he turned to look at her face, a part of
him let go of the past. The part of him that saw the sunshine behind her, and
the pain on her face, that beautiful face. Pain she now had because of him. He
placed the palm of his hand on the side of her face, tracing her jaw line with
his finger. He ignored the house that held nothing but memories that were fading
away, and chose to look only at the person in front of him who would be there in
the future.
In their two bedroom apartment, Steve slept in the same room as UV, and Rachel
slept in the other room with Lindsay. They didn't have money for beds, so all
four of them slept on old used mattresses they had gotten for cheap at some
discount furniture store. Rachel often spent time in Steve's room, laying on
UV's bed while Steve laid in his bed a foot away. They'd reach their hands out
toward one another and clasp hands in the space between them.
And they'd talk. For hours, they'd talk, in the quiet of the apartment while
Lindsay was at school and UV was out doing God knows what. Truth be told, Steve
knew that UV's "job" wasn't a respective nine-to-five one. His style was more
the street kind. Steve didn't ask questions; he just accepted the money that UV
brought in, which sometimes was more than he and Rachel made at the grocery
store where they worked together. It kept a roof over their heads, and for that
he was grateful. How that happened just wasn't important to him.
They often talked about UV. Rachel worried about him. When they all lost Gavin,
Steve and Rachel found each other, but UV was left alone. Sure, they both loved
him and would be there for them the best they could, but nobody could replace
his best friend. Sometimes Rachel tried, but UV never accepted her attempts as
anything but second best.
UV didn't talk much. He never had. It was hard to know what he was thinking. But
Rachel could read him. She could look into his eyes and know that he was
suffering. It came from knowing him all of her childhood.
Sometimes Steve would look at them standing together, and could swear they were
related. UV, with his skin stark white, a picture of the very absence of color.
Like a white flamingo: rare, but strangely beautiful. And next to him would be
Rachel, dressed head-to-toe in black that clung tightly to her perfect shape,
her soft curves; her dark hair a complimentary contrast to her glowing skin.
They were the punk twins. They looked alike because they'd always been alike.
Very rarely did they speak of those they had lost, but sometimes that subject
couldn't be ignored. Rachel spoke of her best friend, and Steve spoke of his
dead brother, and their hearts ached together. Rachel said once that she knows
what it must have felt like to lose a brother... because, in a way, she lost one
too.
Gavin. Alan. Gavin. Alan. Death, loss, pain, nothing now but a memory.
Steve strained to remember those few seconds when The Blue Ribbons jumped to
their death. Tries to decide if he saw Gavin among them. He's torn between
wanting to have seen his face one more time, to help believe that he was gone,
and being glad he wasn't there to watch his friend, who was a completely
different person from the one he'd met, die.
Sometimes he wonders if Gavin is still out there somewhere, preaching about the
right values and doing all of your homework. He wonders, too, if the
brainwashing could ever wear off, returning to someone the mind that made them
who they used to be.
He asked Rachel once if she thought Gavin was dead. She said it didn't matter,
because for her, he died long ago. On the day he became one of Them, and stopped
being the Gavin she knew.
"What are you thinking about?" Rachel asks, pulling Steve away from his deep
thoughts that he'd rather not be thinking. His eyes snap to her, drinking in her
worried frown.
"Just... everything."
Rachel nods; she understands. The two of them are much more solemn these days,
constantly aware that they could be found by their parents, who willingly signed
them up to be changed for a lifetime. They anchor each other, providing solace
for one another where there would otherwise be none.
Sometimes Steve forgets why life is worth living, but then he looks at her, as
he's looking at her now. And in her face, he finds the answer. There are no
words for the way he feels as he looks into her face that it seems, these days,
only brightens for him.
He tries to think about something other than the death and loss that has been
occupying his mind. The lyrics to one of Rachel's alternative songs jump into
his head, and it is a welcome escape from the troubles that usually reside
there. The steady beat of the bass booms in his head, and the lyrics come
easily. Rachel has listened to this song a hundred times in the old beat-up
stereo in the living room. Eventually, the volume she set it at stopped
bothering him, and his headaches ceased.
He gets to a part in the song where he doesn't know the lyrics by heart, and
suddenly the music stops playing in his head. He can hear raindrops falling on
the roof above, can see streaks of wetness on the window, falling like tears to
the ground.
Rachel gets up from her place by the window and walks over to him. She slides
her thin arms around his neck, pulling him close to her. Her body is cold from
sitting next to the window. He wraps his strong arms around her back, and pulls
her closer still.
"You okay?" she asks, staring into his eyes to find the truth that his words
might not reveal.
He doesn't answer, doesn't want to rehash everything. Instead, he kisses her.
Rachel is strong, but she likes her kisses soft, feather-light. Like a
butterfly's wings touching her lips. He's learned how to kiss her like this, the
way she wants and craves. She responds to his tongue when it enters her mouth,
returning the kiss with her eyes closed, her arms tightening around his neck,
rising on her tiptoes to be closer to his height.
His pain melts into the abyss that surrounds them both, the shouts, the screams,
the worries sliding away.
(You signed me up for the program?
WHAT ABOUT WHAT I WANT?
You'll see.
Gavin? What is up with this?
Gavin?
Gavin?
Just leave him be.
Leave him be.
Be the ball.
May I have this dance, Steven?
May I have this dance?
Gavin?
Gavin?
You trust me, don't you?
Science is God
Gavin?...
Don't leave me alone like this!)
He pulls away slowly, and releases his hold on her body. He looks at her shapely
curves and her face that is more beautiful every time he sees it. He trails a
finger softly down her arm, and she shudders, closing her eyes to absorb the
feeling completely. His smile is sad when it appears on his face. He wishes he
could do for her what she does for him. Wishes he could make every moment worth
it just by being there.
She loves him. She's told him so. And he thinks she means it, but doesn't know
for sure.
He has nightmares about that night in Cradle Bay, when the two of them were
almost tainted with blue. Nightmares in which he doesn't save her, and she
becomes lost to him forever. He wakes up on nights like that in a cold sweat,
breathing hard, out of touch with reality in his unbelievable fear. He bolts
from his bed and sneaks into Rachel's room, slipping under the covers next to
her on the old mattress on the floor. When she wakes up, he tells her it's
nothing, that nothing is wrong. That he just wants to hold her. And he does.
Until it's time to get up and face another day without her constantly by his
side.
Rachel opens her eyes, and smiles at him, thinking the kiss means that things
are fine. "So you're okay, then," she guesses, and he nods. He can't lie to her.
Touching her, being close to her, makes everything okay. Everything.
The rain outside stops pouring, and the staccato rhythm of drops on the roof is
silenced. The rain is gone, and it took his worries with him. He has Rachel, who
will be there for him always, she promised. And if she meant it, if she would
always be around, if she was always close enough for him to touch her, then
everything would be okay. She kept his worries from destroying him, and made him
want to never stop living for her.
- -
end
